I've always thought that sex and horror belonged together.

You cut up a thing that's alive and beautiful to find out how it's alive and why it's beautiful, and before you know it, it's neither of those things, and you're standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.

We're both thieves, Harvey Swick. I take time. You take lives. But in the end we're the same: both Thieves of Always.

But I think humans are innately religious as a species, so you don't need a specific excuse for examining the perversely unholy.

I don't like PG-13 horror movies. I think they're a contradiction in terms.

Perhaps a wiser eye than hers would be able to read tomorrow in tonight's stars, but where was the fun in that? It was better not to know. Better to be alive in the Here and the Now--in this bright, laughing moment--and let the Hours to come take care of themselves.

A man kills the thing he loves, and he must die a little himself.